


Roped

by rsadelle



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, Power Dynamics, Rope Bondage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-12
Updated: 2015-01-12
Packaged: 2018-03-07 06:09:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3164171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rsadelle/pseuds/rsadelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Usually it's a game, P.K. trying to get up the driveway without getting caught and Carey staying hidden enough to try to surprise him. But not this time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Roped

**Author's Note:**

  * For [soul_cake_duck](https://archiveofourown.org/users/soul_cake_duck/gifts).



> For soul_cake_duck, who asked for "PK/Carey - rope and cowboy hats."

"Pricey!" P.K. answers the phone with the usual level of enthusiasm he brings to pretty much everything he does. "What's up, man?"

Carey has one last chance to back out, but it was P.K.'s idea in the first place, and this is why he called instead of texting. "I've been practicing my knots," he says. He curls his fingers around the rope neatly coiled on the counter. "I bought some softer rope."

He's trusting P.K. to remember that conversation, the time P.K. said, after Carey roped him in the driveway and pulled him into the house, "You gotta work on your knots, man."

"My knots are fine." Carey tugged on the rope to prove the point.

"You can't use the same knots on people that you use on cows." P.K. brought a hand up to Carey's rope. "You need a softer rope, too." It could have been just P.K. jawing as usual, but there was something in the look he gave Carey that suggested he meant it. Carey took it seriously, anyway.

"Yeah?" P.K. says now. "I'll be over in half an hour. How does that sound?"

"Yeah," Carey says. "That sounds good."

Half an hour lets him take his time getting dressed. Rodeo clothes, but not what he would wear to compete. What he would wear to a dance. Tight black jeans. Black button-down. Black vest. Red tie for a hint of color. The largest belt buckle he's ever won. His best black hat. Boots.

P.K. texts when he's on his way, so Carey knows when to go wait for him on the porch. Usually it's a game, P.K. trying to get up the driveway without getting caught and Carey staying hidden enough to try to surprise him. But not this time.

P.K. doesn't turn it into a game either. He gets out of his car and comes walking straight up the driveway. It gives Carey a few seconds to look at him before he's close enough to be roped. Dark wash jeans, probably designer, knowing P.K. Tight, white T-shirt that hugs his shoulders. High tops. City to Carey's country.

Carey's practiced enough with this rope - different weight than what he usually uses - that he starts twirling it while he's looking at P.K., and it's easy to get the rope down over P.K.'s shoulders as soon as he's close enough.

"Looks like you got me," P.K. says.

"Looks like." Carey pulls the rope tight, and keeps pulling P.K. toward him.

"Nice," P.K. says when he's standing on the porch in front of Carey looking him up and down.

Carey allows himself a bit of a smile. "Thanks. Come in." He opens the door and uses the rope to pull P.K. through it. That's usual, part of the game they play, but this time P.K. doesn't try to get out of it as soon as he's inside, and Carey doesn't make any move to take it off of him.

P.K.'s movement is awkward in a way it never is when he crouches down and takes off his shoes with Carey's rope still tight around his chest and arms. He looks up at Carey from the floor, slowly, all the way from the tip of his boots to the brim of his hat, and says, "Keep your boots on."

Carey nods jerkily. They're as clean as can be, and he would keep them on in the house if P.K. wanted him to even if they weren't.

When P.K. stands, he starts into the house, and this time Carey's the one being pulled along by the rope between them.

P.K. turns once they're in Carey's bedroom, and raises his eyebrows at Carey. "All right," he says. "Show me what you've got."

It's easier, in some ways, than heeling, because P.K. isn't trying to get away from him the way a steer does, but Carey's very conscious, as he knots rope around P.K.'s wrists, of the difference between roping a steer and tying up a person.

He pushes at P.K.'s shoulders, hooks one knee behind P.K.'s to get him to bend. P.K. goes down easily; he did tell Carey to show him what he could do.

When Carey's done, the rope is still tied around P.K.'s chest and he has the other end of it tying P.K.'s wrists and ankles together. He leaves enough play that P.K. can sit up off his heels, but not enough that he can stand.

Carey's breathing heavily, even though it wasn't anywhere near as physically demanding as half the things Carey does with his life. He stands and watches as P.K. tugs at the ropes. Watches the flex of P.K.'s muscles under his shirt.

"Feels pretty solid," P.K. says.

"I can get you out of them easily," Carey says.

"Not yet." P.K. looks up at Carey. "Think you can push my shirt up over my head and down to my wrists?"

"Should be able to," Carey says. He crouches down next to P.K. and pushes his shirt up under the rope around his chest. "The rope too rough on your wrists?"

"No," P.K. says. "But I want you to look at me without my shirt."

Carey laughs, and it makes the whole thing seem a little less fraught. At least until he has P.K.'s shirt tucked under the rope around his wrists and he stands up again. He bought the whitest rope he could find, and it shines in contrast to P.K.'s skin just the way he thought it would.

P.K. looks down at himself and seems to realize the same thing. He's smiling when he looks up at Carey, softly, not one of his wide grins. "Yeah, good job, Pricey."

Carey's breathless again, and he has to swallow against the sudden dryness of his throat.

"Yeah," P.K. says again. Then, "Get your cock out for me."

Carey's hard, which he didn't really notice when he was getting P.K. tied up the way he wanted to be. He notices it now, when his fingers keep brushing the bulge of his cock as he unbuckles his belt.

"Keep your pants on," P.K. says. "Just get your cock out."

Carey lets his jeans fall open, his belt pulling heavily on them, and draws his cock out.

P.K. licks his lips, and Carey's knees tremble, nervousness and anticipation like he never gets, not when he's about to go on the ice, not when he's facing a shootout, not when he's in the box waiting for a steer to be released.

He pauses, though, because there are always safety concerns. "You can't tap out with your hands tied." His voice comes out rough and dry, and that's a surprise to him too.

"I'll pull back if I want to stop." P.K. leans his torso back, abs flexing while he demonstrates how much he can still move. "Now come here."

It's a half a step really, a little bit of repositioning so Carey's right in front of him.

"You can touch," P.K. says, "but don't push."

Carey nods, but then P.K. puts his mouth on his cock and he's not thinking about anything but staying upright.

P.K.'s slow, but steady, all warm, wet suction enveloping Carey's cock. It's just his mouth, tied hands meaning he can't do anything but suck Carey.

Carey keeps the touch of his hands light, fleeting touches to P.K.'s cheek, the back of his head. He wants to hang on to something, to be grounded in something, but P.K. said not to push, and he's trying to be careful.

It seems like both forever and no time at all before Carey comes, time losing all meaning while he stands in front of P.K. He makes a warning noise and tries to pull away from P.K., but P.K. follows him with what leverage he does have and swallows around him.

P.K. leans back when Carey's done coming, and without the need to keep himself upright for P.K. anymore, Carey folds down onto his knees in front of him.

"All right there, Pricey?"

Carey takes stock. He feels a little fuzzy, maybe more than even a good blowjob can account for, but he feels good. "Yeah," he says.

"Good," P.K. says. "Get my dick out and suck me off."

Carey's hands feel clumsy on the button of P.K.'s jeans, but he gets it undone, gets the zipper down. P.K.'s jeans are looser than Carey's, and they slide down his thighs when Carey pushes them out of his way.

Carey has to scrunch himself down a little, and bend, to get his mouth to P.K.'s cock. It's a little uncomfortable, but nothing actively hurts. He mouths over P.K.'s cock for a moment, mouth getting wet enough to get P.K.'s boxer briefs wet too.

"That's good," P.K. says, "but come on."

It's somehow better peeling P.K.'s boxer briefs down when Carey knows P.K. can't make him do anything with his hands tied. He can order, but he can't enforce it.

P.K.'s cock fills Carey's mouth right up, and now he's absolutely desperate for it, desperate to suck him, desperate to make him come, desperate to do it right.

P.K. can't touch, but he tells Carey what to do, says, "Suck a little harder," and, "Use your tongue," and, "That's good, Carey." At the end, he says, "Going to take it? Going to let me come in your mouth?"

Carey almost chokes himself with how hard he sucks on P.K.'s dick at the promise of that.

"Yeah," P.K. says. "Yeah, that's it, Carey, just take it so good for me."

Carey feels like he would be begging for it if his mouth were free, so instead he just keeps sucking P.K. as best he can until P.K. floods his mouth when he comes.

"Oh, yeah," P.K. says after, when Carey's swallowed and taken his mouth off of P.K.'s dick and they're both breathing hard. "That was so good, Pricey, fuck." Then a moment later, "Hey, come here."

Carey shuffles forward a little, and P.K. leans into him, like a hug without his arms involved. Carey's breath steadies after a few seconds. He still feels fuzzy, good in a deep way he can't find words for.

"Time to untie me, I think," P.K. says after they've been doing that for a minute.

Carey kneels up so he can look over P.K.'s shoulder, unties him without moving away.

P.K. stretches after Carey's pulled the full length of the rope away from his body and dropped it to the side, arching back and rolling his shoulders. Then he puts his arms around Carey in a full-blown hug. "That was good, Pricey. That was real good."

Carey nods against his shoulder and slowly brings his arms up to hug P.K. back.

"Real good," P.K. says again, and he presses a couple of kisses to Carey's temple.

It's not the most comfortable place to be - Carey's knees are getting tired and his boots aren't made for this - but as long as P.K.'s willing to stay like this, Carey's not going to be the one to make them move.


End file.
